Crazy
by Ada Kensington
Summary: Kabuto's having nightmares. Horrible, horrible nightmares...


Crazy

-0-

* * *

><p>For Syrraki. Because I was writing this and then I found out it was her birthday, so it just sort of became hers. Not that she'll necessarily want it, though. It's not very birthday-ish, haha.<p>

* * *

><p>-0-<p>

Sleep paralysis. He looked it up on the internet. Well, Wikipedia, really. Not the most reliable of sources, but good enough for waking up at two am for the third night in a row on the verge of hysteria and shaking so badly he could hardly open the laptop.

It calmed him. The sleep paralysis article. The science of it – the cold, rote words, the acronyms he did not understand, the percentages, and lists of academics he had never heard of – made everything seem normal somehow. As though having demonic visions of his ex terrorising him nightly was something completely normal that could be cured with a few pills or some expensive therapy sessions.

To be honest, Kabuto thought ruefully as he reached for the glass of water by his bed and took a few grateful swigs from it, if anyone could get Orochimaru out of his mind and his life for good, he would gladly sell them everything he owned – soul included.

He'd taken the job out here; had moved across the goddamn ocean just to get the hell away from him. But Facebook was a killer. Too many people he knew were mutual friends. There were the comments, invitations, tagged photos — fucking Farmville requests. He had seriously thought a couple of times about blocking him, but that night at the club when he'd finally plucked up the courage to tell him it was over, that he'd got a job overseas (to get away from him, though he'd never told him that) he had gabbled inanely a stupid, stupid something about being friends and staying in touch.

So he'd never blocked him, though he maybe should've. Definitely should've because the photos were driving him nuts. Orochimaru had evidently snared himself someone else, because people kept tagging him in photos with a kid called Uchiha Sasuke. And he was a kid. Way too young for Orochimaru. He'd checked out the Uchiha kid's profile and he was an undergrad at KNU, studying something boring and practical like economics. He looked moody and disinterested in all the pictures he was tagged in, staring at the camera as though it were something low and base that had offended him; all dark eyes and dark hair and pale skin. The only one the kid showed any sort of interest in was the snap where Orochimaru was straddling him on the couch in the dark, sweaty corner of the club. Orochimaru's long dark hair was hanging over the kid's face, and it wasn't a great photo, so Kabuto couldn't see the Uchiha's eyes but he could definitely make out the smile. It was sickle-sharp, confident and so utterly fucking hot that for a brief moment he'd wanted to be the one climbing on top of Uchiha Sasuke, with his fists bunched in his soft, black hair.

He couldn't remember if he'd ever smiled like that when he'd been with Orochimaru. Mostly he'd been terrified, though for a long time he thought it was excitement, or love, or maybe lust, or a confusing mixture of them all. Maybe he had smiled like that, once, and that's what had attracted Orochimaru to him?

In bed, in the dark, he laughed softly to himself and shook his head. He was pretty certain that no one in hell would ever be able to tell what went on in that man's head, never mind why he'd caught Orochimaru's eye.

He was a science geek, with long hair and glasses, for god's sake – nothing like the Uchiha kid, who was attractive in a very obvious way.

He'd met Orochimaru at the club. It was the day after finals, and he'd gone out with half his class, wanting nothing more than to get so blind drunk he couldn't even feel his teeth and maybe have a dance before staggering home.

He met Orochimaru instead, on the dance floor. He remembered standing at the bar with Karin (she'd been waiting for some stupid cocktail that took ages to make) watching him, even laughing at him a little, because the way Orochimaru had been dancing made it completely obvious that he was fucked off his face on MDMA or something. But there was this thing, this weird thing in Kabuto's mind that wanted to be like that, to be like him – to just cut loose and not give a shit about anything and just enjoy the moment for what it was.

And then Orochimaru looked over at him. It was a chance flicker of a glance, but their eyes met, and Kabuto remembered feeling his heart lurch in his chest when he first saw Orochimaru's eyes. They were such a weird colour. And his smile. Oh god, his smile. It was crazy and confident and wicked and evil and everything that was wrong in the world. But he liked it. He remembered that smile, remembered Orochimaru smiling at him, raising his hands, beckoning him over to the dance floor, and he had thought right then and there that he would've followed Orochimaru to the ends of the earth if he'd asked him.

He'd ended up dancing with him, took the pills Orochimaru had offered him (it was the first time he'd ever done drugs) and ended up being dragged into a toilet stall in the men's room where Orochimaru had fucked him senseless before plugging his number into Kabuto's phone, telling him to call the next day.

And then he was gone.

He'd woken up the next morning with only vague recollections of the night before. In his address book, Orochimaru's number stared at him accusingly, shaming him into wondering why he even went near that weird, drugged-up psycho the night before. So he didn't call him. He should've known that Orochimaru wasn't quite right when he turned up at the apartment two days later looking for him.

"Why didn't you call me?" were the first words Orochimaru had said to him when he'd wandered through to the lounge, towelling himself off, just out the shower (Suigetsu had answered the door and had let him in – why did he do that?) He remembered the expression on Orochimaru's face then, and it still made him laugh. Petulant, childish, as though he'd somehow hurt his feelings. As though Orochimaru had any feelings that could be hurt.

Orochimaru had brought two bottles of wine (one each, he'd said with a wicked grin) and Kabuto had invited him through to the kitchen, where they ended up getting through more than a bottle each and Orochimaru had somehow managed to make him feel guilty about not calling, so much so that he'd felt compelled to make it up to him by accepting Orochimaru's invitation to head round to his absolutely fantastic westside penthouse apartment, where he'd been fed more wine, convinced to take a few pills, and finished the day being tied to a bed while Orochimaru did things to him that still shamed him even today.

You see, that was the problem with Orochimaru. Kabuto had only gone out with him for two months, but it was two months of utter, utter crazy. Whatever Orochimaru wanted, Orochimaru got. He was manipulative and controlling and charismatic and sweet-tongued and hellishly charming. He was also the sort of person that saw the word no as a challenge. Maybe that's why Orochimaru had liked him, Kabuto thought grimly. He'd been a challenge. Because sometimes he'd been able to summon the will to say no, though it never lasted long.

That was the main reason Kabuto had made the decision to end it with him. It was the way Orochimaru could just drain all the self-will he possessed with a look and a smile. That his dignity and his identity could vanish in an instant because Orochimaru demanded it of him, because Orochimaru wanted to impose himself and his will upon him, because Orochimaru wanted to do this, or because Orochimaru wanted to do that. Kabuto did not like to be dominated, and always when he was with Orochimaru, a tiny part of him protested, saying that it did not like the person he became when he was around Orochimaru: calling the lab pretending to be ill because he'd been out all night and had gone home with Orochimaru, who had been off work and wanted him to stay in bed; taking drugs (which he had never done before he met Orochimaru); drinking so much he didn't know where he was and ending up sleeping half-naked in a doorway with Orochimaru, being moved on by the police out on their first rounds at dawn; having sex in toilet stalls, in empty moving train carriages, in parks, in fetish clubs, in car parks – everywhere and anywhere, because Orochimaru demanded it. Orochimaru was always demanding; constantly, constantly demanding.

Towards the end, Kabuto had been tired. Tired and drained and looking desperately for excuses to get away from him. The worst part was that his friends and flatmates all loved Orochimaru – even though he was almost twice his age and had changed Kabuto beyond recognition, they loved him because he was charming and fun and witty and clever and kind of good-looking in an unconventional way and he was older and he had money and was interesting and had interesting friends. They knew what he was doing, but couldn't bring themselves to blame him for it because he was one of their friends too now, you know?

That's why he had to leave. In desperation, he'd scoured the net looking for lab jobs as far away as possible from Orochimaru, who had basically become his life. He was lucky and managed to get his first choice job – a well-paying research job on the other side of the world where the seasons were all back to front and toilets flushed the wrong way round. He had dreaded telling Orochimaru. Really dreaded it. Lying awake at night and making himself sick dreading it. But he'd done it. That was the main thing.

Orochimaru had been oddly quiet when Kabuto had said he wanted to finish it. He'd seriously thought Orochimaru would at least have tried to convince him to stay. But he hadn't. Instead, he just looked at Kabuto in a funny way and then quietly said that he wished him well. Thoroughly wrong-footed, expecting a fuss and a fight, it was then that Kabuto had gabbled that stupid, stupid something about being friends and keeping in touch. He wished he hadn't said that now. Facebook really was a killer. Even though he was halfway around the world, he still couldn't stop thinking about him. He'd even started to have nightmares, and that was the problem.

By all standards, they were pretty classic sleep paralysis nightmares. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, unable to move, with Orochimaru standing in the corner of the bedroom – doing nothing much, just staring, his glittering yellow eyes seeming large and eerie in the darkness. The worst ones were when he woke up and Orochimaru was kneeling atop his chest, grinning at him, trapping him, stealing the air from his lungs and all movement from his body, Orochimaru's face barely inches away from his own, with the ends of Orochimaru's long dark hair hanging about him like a curtain that kept the safety of the waking world out and the horror of his dream world – composed entirely of Orochimaru's pale eyes – in.

He'd had the kneeling nightmare just before he woke up. That was the third night in a row now, and it was really beginning to get to him. Even now that he'd left him, Orochimaru was still managing to dominate him, even going so far as sneaking into his subconscious at night. It was just like him.

The laptop screen was open and glowing in front of him, Facebook ready and waiting. He clicked the block button without a second thought and, job done, wearily snapped the screen closed. Instantly, he felt much better, like maybe he could sleep the rest of the night without Orochimaru slithering into his dreams and terrorising him into hysteria.

He fell asleep round about half an hour later, and then, as always, Orochimaru was there to greet him.

He was standing in the corner of the room, wearing white (which was weird because Orochimaru never wore white even in his dreams) and his nails were long and shiny and black and claw-like. His long dark hair hung about his face, and his head tilted to one side as he smiled and stared and smiled and stared. It was scary. It was unnerving. But Kabuto knew that there was nothing he could do, that it wasn't the worst he'd experienced, and that even though every muscle in his body was wound so tight it hurt, even though his eyes were fixed on Orochimaru and couldn't move or blink, he knew that he just had to ride it out. That it would go away eventually, that he would wake up, and that the morning would bring light and warmth to chase away the awful apparition that stalked his dreams.

When Orochimaru began to move towards him, though, he screamed. Well, he tried to scream, but only a choked, guttural, strangled sob of a sound managed to get out.

Slowly, torturously slowly, Orochimaru made his way towards him, smiling, smiling, drifting forward – not walking like a human, but dragging his toes across the floor like a demon. Kabuto desperately fought against his body, urged himself over and over and over to wake up, dammit, wake the fuck up! But his limbs felt like slabs of granite; cold, ancient and ponderously heavy, dull and unresponsive, lifeless, and though he tried to calm himself, telling himself that it was just a nightmare, that Orochimaru was not drifting towards his bed with nails like claws and grinning with a smile full of teeth that were sharper than he remembered, he could feel the tingling, choking feeling of hysteria creeping over him.

_Go away, go away, go away, go away..._ Kabuto pleaded, wanting desperately to close his eyes, though he knew he couldn't, wanting desperately for Orochimaru to have mercy, to go away and leave him in peace, though he knew it was in vain. Orochimaru had never listened to him then. Why would he now?

He was at the end of the bed now, still smiling, still staring, and Kabuto felt a thrill of revulsion as Orochimaru's clawed hand came to rest upon his foot. Then he began to crawl under the bedcovers.

Rigid, unable to move in the darkness, Kabuto began to cry silent, unshed tears as he felt Orochimaru crawling towards him. His hands were everywhere and they were ice cold, running over his legs, his chest, his arms, the black talons scratching against his bare skin. Then everything seemed to rear up in front of him in great black folds of shadows and straight away he could feel the familiar, awful weight of Orochimaru kneeling on his chest, oppressive and constricting. Orochimaru was there, right there, inches from his face, grinning at him, a rictus grin, grinding his teeth together so hard Kabuto could hear it. And the eyes, oh god, the eyes, were fixed upon him, yellow and glittering like a beast's in the dark.

With a thrill of terror, Kabuto watched with wide eyes, his heart hammering as Orochimaru brought up a cold, clawed hand to caress his face, which was quickly followed by another hand, and then both managed to knot themselves in his hair, gripping so tight that it hurt, as though Orochimaru was never going to let him go. And then he spoke, so softly that Kabuto almost missed it, his lilting, sibilant voice hissing in his ear.

"Why didn't you call me?"

And Kabuto cried out, a low moan, every nerve in his body protesting at the intrusion as Orochimaru kissed him, teeth clashing, roughly forcing his mouth open with hot, furtive motions, ravenous and demanding, searching for something. He didn't even have time to feel alarm when he felt Orochimaru's teeth closing around his tongue.

There was a dull, gristly crunch and a flash of agonising pain. His mouth filled with a hot, spurting rush of iron-tinged blood, and he retched as he saw, and heard, Orochimaru greedily swallowing the bloody chunk of cartilage that had been the end of his tongue. The last thing he saw before he woke up in terror was Orochimaru's hideous smile - all white, too-sharp teeth dripping with blood...

... and crazy and confident and wicked and evil and everything that was wrong in the world.


End file.
